


like a needle on a record (you fit right into me)

by moxiemorton



Series: I'm stuck in the dark (but you're my flashlight) [1]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fake Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:08:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14030865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moxiemorton/pseuds/moxiemorton
Summary: Bemily Week Day 1 - fake datingShe literally just wanted to get rid of a persistent frat boy at the bar. She wasn't supposed to fall in love, damnit.





	1. Chapter 1

A college bar is the last place Beca wants to be after a killer week at the studio, yet here she is, sipping on a familiar local brew in a pub down the street from Barden University. It’s Emily’s 21st birthday weekend and the Bellas — the  _old_  Bellas, not Emily’s new infant squad — wanted to have a small reunion to celebrate.

As it turns out, only Cynthia Rose, who was in between jobs, Aubrey, who was already in Atlanta for a vacation, and the occupants of Beca’s apartment, who never seemed to have a busy weekend, were able to come down. Chloe had jumped at the chance to visit their alma mater, and it wasn’t like Fat Amy was doing anything important anyway, so the three of them had booked flights before any other Bellas had confirmed.

Beca blows out a breath and takes another swig of her beer, continuing to tune out the guy next to her who’s desperately been trying and failing to flirt. He had sidled up to her when she was ordering her drink, and while she wants to go back to where Emily and Cynthia Rose are taking turns catching cashews in their mouths, he keeps running his mouth about nothing in particular and insisting he buy her another drink. Her noncommittal answers and cold shoulder do little to discourage him, and she feels herself starting to zone out while staring at the small cup full of plastic stirrers on the counter.

It’s been a while since the Bellas were all together in the same room, let alone the same state, and being back at Barden really drags out the nostalgia from Beca. She glances over at the dart board at the far side of the bar where Flo had once chucked a beer bottle instead of a dart and got them banned for months. She hears the toilet flush in the distance, bringing back vivid memories of holding back Chloe’s hair as she upheaved greasy bar food and bottom shelf tequila.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss the chaotic shenanigans. Emily’s birthday had given them all an excuse to meet up, but with their new lives as working women with actual adult responsibilities, a full-Bella reunion sounds more unlikely than ever. It’s great to see Cynthia Rose and Aubrey again, sure, but Beca hasn’t seen Flo, Jessica, Ashley, or Lilly since Emily’s delayed initiation at the Bella house.

There’s nothing she could do, though. This isn’t the same as dragging them out of bed or classes for Bellas rehearsals and cardio sessions. It’s jobs, it’s grad school, it’s real life. For Emily’s sake, she wants to enjoy the weekend and treat the youngest Bella to a good 21st birthday celebration.

‘Cept for this damn stubborn hair gel frat boy who can’t take a hint.

She rolls her eyes to herself before she turns to him and cuts off his next words.

“Hey, listen, P… uh… Paulie? Pedro? What’s your name again?” she asks, feeling a lot like her old boss at Residual Heat.

He smiles, pleased at the attention. “Peter.” He pushes back his dark hair as he introduces — or re-introduces, Beca really doesn’t remember — himself, his smile more of a tilted smirk that showed off wolfish canines. He has on a dark button down and shorts despite the chilly November wind outside, and she can tell right away that he’s about to prove impossible to shake off.

“Peter,” she repeats with a nod. “Listen, I’m not really in the mood to do… whatever  _this_  is, right now, okay?” she says, waving finger between them. “I’m friggen 25, kiddo. I’m really not looking to be hit on by children ton — ”

“No, you’re not,” he says with an easy laugh.

Beca reels back, plastering on a strained smile. “Ex _cuse_  me?”

“There’s no way you’re 25,” the kid, Peter, shrugs, and she bristles at the certainty of his tone. It isn’t that Beca has never had this tone used on her — males in the music industry always spoke to her and her few female colleagues like they were bumbling idiots — but she’d forgotten how it felt to have someone in her own age range talk down to her.

His observation is also obviously based on her physical stature, or lack thereof, and that only fuels her fire.

“Look buddy, I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“Sure, but that’s a pretty lame lie to get out of one little drink with me.”

She knows she shouldn’t, but she feels herself building up for fight. What the hell, right? It’s Friday night, she had a shitty week at work, Amy had snored next to her the entire flight to Atlanta, and she’s three beers in. If this cocky fucker wants to be the straw that breaks her goddamn back, so be it.

“Don’t test me, junior. I work with entitled assholes every day. I eat babyfaced dickheads like you for breakfast.”

He quirks an eyebrow, his smile growing. “Oh, yeah?”

“You really can’t take a hint, can you?”

“All of my exes tell me I’m pretty persistent.”

“Dude, that’s not a fucking — you know what? Never mind.”

“So, is that a yes?”

Beca’s fingers tighten over her bottle, and all she wants to do is take a leaf out of Flo’s book and throw it as hard as she could at the dart board. Or at Peter’s head. “What part of that sounded like a yes?” she asks in a false cheery voice, giving him the death glare that usually chased away small children and mall kiosk workers.

It doesn’t work on him. “Come on, just one —”

“I’m here with someone,” she settles. “A date.” She mentally curses herself as soon as the words are out of her mouth, already anticipating his skepticism; that line never works unless there’s proof.

“Oh yeah? I don’t see anyone else with you.”

Beca immediately pushes away the cliche thought of picking a random male stranger to play the role of her pretend-date. Knowing her shitty luck, the guy’ll feel entitled to some kind of reward or payment, and the cycle will never end.

Girl. She needs a girl. They’re infinitely more understanding and never expect anything in return; besides, it kills two birds with one stone in terms of rejection. Chloe and Stacie are the first ones to come to mind. They could make a fake relationship sound more real than their actual ones, and they had the right amount of confidence to chase away any unwanted attention. But Stacie isn’t here and Chloe is visibly flirting with a group of guys on the other end of the bar. Fat Amy is nowhere to be found, not that Beca would ever want her to be her pretend date. She looks over to the cashew-catching duo, but Cynthia Rose had disappeared, probably to use the restroom. Emily sits alone at the bar, smiling at something on her phone.

“Right over there,” Beca says, pointing at her. As soon as Peter turns to look at Emily, Beca quickly takes out her phone and shoots the younger girl a text.

_‘SOS come here and pretend to be my girlfriend’_

She manages to add a quick  _‘please’_  before Peter faces her again.

“The tall girl? With the blue shirt? Doesn’t seem like she even knows you,” he says with a cocky smile. “Look, I’m just asking for one drink. You don’t have to make up a girlfriend for that, do you?”

“Well, here she comes now, let’s ask her, huh?” She shoots him the biggest smirk she can manage, and waves over his shoulder at Emily. She waves back tentatively as she approaches, looking incredibly uncertain and nervous.

“Hey babe,” Beca says casually, channeling her inner Chloe. She knows she made the wrong choice in picking Emily when the younger girl turns bright red and stares wide-eyed at her.

“He-hey,” she stutters, “Ba-…Bec-…? B-uh…b-beautiful?”

Beca almost spits out her drink at the sight of Emily’s flustered confusion. She’s absolutely adorable, just as clumsy and awkward as she was freshmen year, and Beca feels her heart warming at old memories again. It’s clear that they’re not about to fool Peter, not with Emily’s emotional transparency, but all of a sudden Beca doesn’t care about that anymore. Rejecting sleazy frat boys at the bar, having Chloe and Stacie be each Bellas’ “fake dates” to chase them away, laughing about it together the next morning… it was a fond memory with the girls that Beca realizes Emily never got to experience.

Between her internship senior year and their age difference, they never really had any bonding moments outside of music. They’d never hung out at the mall or went out to frat parties or studied for exams together like she had with the other girls. Emily was the Bella they left behind, the one who never had a chance to grow with them as a family.

Fuck it, it’s her birthday weekend. Beca wants to have some fun teasing her, the frat boy be damned.

“So Peter right here wants me to get a drink with him,” she drawls, pulling Emily closer by the hem of her shirt and sliding an arm around her waist, now channeling Stacie. Emily tenses at Beca’s touch, and only after a noticeable hesitation does she relax.

“Uh… oh. Is that… I-is that so?”

“Yeah, he seems  _utterly_  unconvinced that we’re dating.”

“Mmm, yes. Yes, we are. Dating.” Emily laughs nervously. “We’re dating.  _Been_  dating. Yup. It’s been… months. Years, even. We’re totally in love.”

Beca bites the inside of her cheek, hard, so the smile doesn’t show on her face. She slowly exhales a low and shaky laugh so Peter won’t hear. “See, there you have it,” she tells him, thankful that her voice sounds cool and indifferent. “We’re, like, totally in love.”

“You sure?” He looks Emily up and down, and Beca’s humorous attitude vanishes, suddenly making her pissed again. “You don’t seem like the type who can handle this feisty little wildcat,” he scoffs. Now Beca’s had enough and is ready to throw some punches, maybe after dropping a witty one-liner or something, even if it gets them banned from the bar again.

But shockingly, it’s Emily who speaks up first.

“O-oh yeah? Well then.”

With no build-up and absolutely no warning, she whirls on Beca, grabs her by the collar of her jacket, and pulls her up into a kiss.

 _This is totally not what I signed up for_  are the words that flash repeatedly like a neon sign in Beca’s mind as she’s forced onto her tiptoes. Emily had pulled Beca up pretty roughly, but her lips are soft and infuriatingly light on hers. Melting out of her initial shock, Beca puts one hand on Emily’s shoulder to steady herself and the other around the back of her neck to pull her closer and deepen the kiss.  _It’s to make it more convincing. To make it look more real,_  she tells herself frantically when Emily makes a small sound of surprise.  _Fuck. I’m enjoying this. Oh, fuck fuck fuck fu-_

She notices the empty air next to them and opens one eye to see that Peter is nowhere to be seen.

Although every last cell in her body is telling her not to, she gently pulls at Emily’s wrists until they break apart. They lock eyes for a moment, cheeks bright red, and Emily lets out a nervous huff of laughter. Her breath smells like the strawberry daiquiri she had been drinking, and Beca’s knees suddenly go weak.

_Holy shitballs, I just made out with the legacy._

Emily gasps as soon as she sees that Peter’s no longer there to hassle them. She abruptly releases and jumps away from Beca, more or less dropping the shorter girl to the ground.

“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry, Beca.” She looks like she’s about to cry. “I-I don’t know what came over me, I just… and he was just… and then you were just…you know? And I didn’t know what to do, I’ve never been a fake girlfriend, I don’t know how to chase someone away like Stacie, I just did what she might have done, and… and —”

“Hey, hey. Breathe. It’s cool.”

“— and oh, my stars. I can’t believe I just…and you  _also_  just…I’m so,  _so_  sorry Beca.”

“Em.” She grabs Emily’s shoulders and forces the panicked senior to look at her. “Hey. I said it’s cool, okay? Seriously, you did…well, it wasn’t the most Oscar-worthy performance, but it worked, didn’t it?”

Beca doesn’t mention how amazing it was, how pulling her closer had nothing to do with rejecting a frat boy, or how much her flustered reaction makes her want to kiss her again. The poor girl looks mortified enough as it is, nodding stiffly as if she barely hears any of Beca’s reassuring words.

“ _Legacy and Beca, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N —_ eugh.” Amy’s singing is cut off when Beca jabs an elbow into her ribs.

Cynthia Rose and Aubrey follow close behind, smirking knowingly, and Chloe bounds over from her male entourage with a gigantic sunshine of a smile to throw her arms around both of them.

“Ohh, I’m so happy for you two,” she says genuinely, and Beca backpedals with panic.

“Whoa, whoa. Guys. We were just trying to get some creepy dude off my back, it’s not a big deal.” She rests a hand on Emily’s arm when she starts doing her nervous bounce. “Legacy made a brave sacrifice here, don’t make it weird.”

“I dunno, girl.” Cynthia Rose is shaking her head and flipping through something on her phone. “If you ask me, y’all were enjoying yourselves,” she says, turning her screen. It’s a picture of Beca and Emily, and they’re kissing with what could only be described as genuine passion. Peter is nowhere in the frame, and Beca feels a blush creeping up her neck. Fat Amy reaches over and swipes to the next photo, where the two of them are looking longingly into each others’ eyes.

Out of context, it totally looks like they’re making out for no reason. And knowing Fat Amy’s ability to drastically change the innocence of a photo with a well-worded caption, the rest of the Bellas are probably going to blow up the group chat as soon as she posts it.

Emily looks like she’s about to faint.

“Delete those,” Beca says instinctively.

“No way! You guys are adorable!” Chloe snatches the phone away and swipes back and forth between the photos, Aubrey looking over her shoulder and  _awww_ ’ing with her.

Beca knows there’s no winning with this group. The best she can do is compromise, at least for Emily’s sake.

“Fine. But no posting on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or Snapchat.” She gives Amy a piercing glare, and unlike Peter, the blonde actually takes it seriously and snaps to attention. “These photos don’t leave the Bella’s chat. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Chloe, Amy, and Cynthia Rose say in unison.

“No one said they’re being posted on the Bella’s group chat, Beca.” Aubrey points out with a shit-eating grin that clearly says  _you done fucked up_. “So, thanks for your permission.”

Emily groans and leans heavily against the bar for support, and Beca joins her with a long sigh as everyone’s phones starts to ring with group chat notifications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Vinyl - Fly By Midnight
> 
> find me at http://fullscaleninja.tumblr.com/


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was never intended to be multi-chap but now it's about to be 3 so enjoy

It would be wishful thinking to say that Beca forgot about the night as soon as they returned to New York. The weekend is over, Chloe is nursing a _heavy_ hangover, and the studio is busier than ever; tirades of problems hurl themselves at the little DJ. But no matter how much work Beca piles on her plate, she can’t get the feeling of Emily’s lips out of her mind. And it should make her nervous that she maybe perhaps sort of might have fallen for the legacy after _one_ supposedly fake kiss, but if anything, she’s frustrated that she can’t shake the feelings away.

An amateur wannabe rap star wants the studio to make his atrocious track a hit and since Beca is apparently the only employee that has working ears, she’s tasked with cleaning up the trash that is his singing and rapping.

Then her boss adds one more client, a Sara Barellies copycat, who has the same four chords in all of her songs and clearly has some lasting issues with her ex.

Then a one-hit wonder hip hop singer from like, the 90s drifts into the studio, looking to release one more single before quitting music, and Beca adds him to her workload because she just wants _something_ to keep her mind off of Emily.

She takes on three friggen clients alone — something not even her boss recommends — each with their own quirks and complaints. They call and e-mail her constantly about the updates she’s making and the production for this and the editing for that, and despite their condescending tones, Beca welcomes the distractions where she can get them. She comes in early, goes home late, eats lunch at her desk, and goes to bed straight after work. She even starts taking her laptop and all carriable equipment home on weekends so she can concentrate on mixing if she doesn’t have any plans with Chloe or Fat Amy.

And somehow, the feeling of that kiss _still_ makes its way into her overfilled brain and sends her spiraling into a wild journey through her emotions, and Beca contemplates drowning herself in the shower on multiple occasions.  

 _Come on, you loser. It was literally just_ one _kiss. And it wasn’t even real. She did it for_ you _, Mitchell, because_ you _asked for it. Stop getting so worked up and let it go._

Then she sees Emily’s message in the Bella’s group chat, thanking everyone who was able to make it to her birthday, and Beca goes straight back to that night and that feeling of Emily’s hands holding her up by her collar —

_Damnit, cut it out. It was fake. Faaaake. Get over yourself!_

She rips her eyes away from her phone and tries to refocus on the laptop in front of her. But the mix isn’t going anywhere and the program is super slow on the work laptop and the kitchen sink is dripping because Fat Amy had broken it last week and Emily’s face keeps floating into her head and the group chat keeps ringing with notifications and she’s literally about to _explode_. Beca grabs fistfuls of her hair and tugs roughly on it before letting out a low but audible groan. Chloe, who’s sitting across the kitchen table from her, working on a lab report for class, looks up and gives her roommate a concerned look.

“You good?” she asks lightly when Beca is done with her mini freakout.

“Yeah. Peachy.”

She stares at the tiny DJ for a bit before her face splits into a smile. “Hey, so —”

“No, Chloe, I don’t have time for a spa day,” Beca cuts in, “I have three idiotic clients and none of them know how music works, and _this_ one wants a finished product by Monday night.”

“Okay, Ms. Workaholic. That’s not what I was going for.”

She narrows her eyes at the ginger. “You’re _always_ gunning for a spa day.”

“Yeah, but this is a little more important.”

“ _What?_ More important than spa day?” Beca says with exaggerated sarcasm. “I _gotta_ hear this.”

“Yeah, I think you really gotta.” Chloe closes her laptop and Beca’s senses go on high alert. “You’ve been a little obsessed with your clients, recently. And you’ve been spending a _lot_ of time at the studio.”

“It’s a busy season,” Beca dismisses. “I have a lot of high-maintenance asshole musicians on my back about fixing this and that. They’re like toddlers, they need constant attention.”

“I get that, but… and don’t take this the wrong way, Becs,” Chloe says patiently. “But you never really cared about your clients this much before. I mean, leaving _earlier_ than you have to so you can start working at the studio sooner? Come on.”  

Beca really shouldn’t be offended, but she puts on the best are-you-kidding-me glare and crosses her arms. “Is it bad that I care about my clients? Is it bad that I’m taking on more so I can build up my portfolio for better jobs and better clients?” Now she’s clearly pulling lies out of her ass. “And… _and_ my bonuses are commission-based. Might I remind you that I’m the _sole_ source of income for this apartment?”

“Okay, okay.” The older girl raises her hands in a placating gesture and holds back a smile. “You’re right, you work hard to bring home the bacon, and you’re an absolute sweetheart for investing in your clients like this.”

“Why, thank you.”

“But you know you’ve only been like this ever since we came back from Atlanta last weekend.”

“That’s not true.”

“Does it have to do with that kiss with Emily?” Chloe asks, ignoring her denial.

Beca tries her damned hardest to keep her expression neutral. “No.”

Chloe sees right through her; she gives her a victorious smirk and juts her chin forward. “Uh huh.”

“Drop it, Chlo.”

“Okay, Becs.”

And miraculously, the redhead actually drops the subject and reopens her laptop to finish her report. Beca glances up at her through narrowed eyes for the next few minutes, waiting for the romance-obsessed gossip queen to start the conversation up again. She never does.

Beca’s phone chimes, a different sound from the group chat, and she feels her heart jump when she sees the name at the top of the message.

 **Emily:** _Hey Beca! Sorry to bother you, but are you busy right now?_

She stares at the message on her screen but can’t bring herself to unlock the phone and respond.

“Who’s that?” Chloe asks, peering over, and Beca snatches the phone out of sight.

“No one,” she says unconvincingly. Her finger automatically goes to unlock the phone without her even thinking about it, and before she can comprehend what she’s done, she has the message open and clearly read. Now Emily knows Beca saw the message, and she doesn’t want to be the dick who blatantly ignores the pure and innocent legacy’s question.

 _Just say yes, you’re busy, and that you can’t talk_ , she thinks, raising her phone.

 **Beca:** _‘Sup Junk. I’m free_

She can almost feel the voice in her head mentally slapping her across the face.

 **Emily:** _Great! Um so can I talk to you about something?_

 **Beca:** _Yeah, shoot_

Beca watches the three dots flashing on her screen as Emily types out her response, and she suddenly realizes how hard her heart is beating. She can’t determine if it’s fear or excitement boiling through her blood, but she knows that she doesn’t like it.

It’s not even rare for Emily to reach out to Beca — especially since they graduated two years ago and the youngest Bella was frantically asking for advice and pointers about leading literally _the_ best a capella group in the world — personally instead of in a group chat. But after last weekend, Beca knows she has every right to anticipate the worst.

_What if she wants to tell me that she hated it? That she regrets everything about it? That she never wants to be used as a fake girlfriend ever again? Oh, god, what if she has a boyfriend and he found out and that dumb kiss ruined their relationship?_

_Or what if she…maybe…feels the same? What if she can’t stop thinking about it either? What if she wants…more?_

Beca takes a deep breath, soft enough so Chloe wouldn’t hear, and blinks rapidly to clear her head. God, she needs to fucking relax.

 **Emily:** _Actually…_

 **Emily:** _Would it be ok if I called?_

She stares at the messages. She rereads them again and again and again until the words start to blur together, trying desperately to decipher the incredibly straightforward question. They’ve rarely called before, except maybe twenty-second conversations to try and find each other in a crowded store or to find out why they were late to practice.

They’ve never had a serious phone conversation, and the initiation of one so soon after that incident at the bar doesn’t exactly bode well for Beca. As someone who’s avoided confrontation and talking about her feelings for almost the entirety of her relationship with Jesse, Beca is not exactly willing to open up or be opened up _to_ about one little fake kiss.

But then again, it could also be something completely unrelated.

“I’ll be right back,” Beca mutters, grabbing a coat and her keys to the apartment.

“What? Where’re you going?”

“A walk.”

She can almost feel Chloe’s knowing smirk like a magnetic pressure against her back, and it doesn’t go away even when she closes the door. She heads downstairs towards the lobby and types out a response to Emily.

 **Beca:** _Yeah, go for it_

Her phone rings almost immediately, and Beca can’t help but to hesitate before picking it up.

“Hey, Legs.”

“Hi!”

Emily sounds happy and excited as always, and Beca relieves some tension she hadn’t even notice she’d been building in her shoulders. So maybe she really _did_ overthink this.

“Everything okay over there? Drinking yourself under the table every day now that you’re legal?”

Emily giggles, and Beca’s heart jumps into her throat. “Hey, I’m not that sloppy. Not compared to a certain blonde Australian and a certain redhead.”

“True that.”

She hears Emily swallow nervously on the other end, and she resists doing the same. “So…this is a super weird question and I don’t know why I thought it’d be less awkward if I called and said it out loud than just typing it out, but I kind of thought it’d be rude if I didn’t ask in person. Well, not in _person_ person, but you know. At least through voice. Like, semi-in-person.”

Beca smiles a little as Emily rambles on, not bothering to cut her off or tell her to get to the point like she usually does. She’s had a shitty and tiring week and the least she should be allowed to do is listen to the soothing stream of jumbled words coming from the pure cinnamon roll on the other end of the line. Whether she’s panicking or singing or screaming or falling asleep, Emily has one of the most recognizable and comforting voices Beca’s heard, and she honestly misses hearing it every day at the Bella’s house.

There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? Nothing creepy?

Emily seems to notice how she’s monopolizing the call. “Sorry, I’m rambling so much.”

“No, no. I don’t mind.”

“Anyway, Stacie found this _amazing_ holiday discount for a weekend at a beach resort not too far from Savannah and I was wondering if you…uh, want to come?”

“That hesitation means there’s a catch, doesn’t it?” Beca asks suspiciously. Honestly, everyone should expect a catch when Stacie is involved with planning a trip, and after the leggy duo had grown closer with Stacie staying behind at Barden to finish her masters program, there’s no such thing as too much precaution.

“Um. Well, the resort is for c-couples only,” she stutters, and Beca can practically _feel_ the Emily's blush through the phone. “And you know, well. We’ve kind of, like, done it before, you know? Fake-dating, I mean. So I thought, if worse comes to worst, Beca would know what to do.”  

 _Jesus Christ, it’s even_ worse _than I could’ve ever imagined._

“Uh. You, uh. Sure about that?” Beca dares to ask. “You know Chloe or like, god, _Stacie_ is a much better candidate for this.”

Emily laughs a little. “Well, Stacie already asked Chloe to go with her.”

“Oh, those scheming bitches,” Beca whispers.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just…uh.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Are you _sure_ you want me to be your fake date? This isn’t chasing away a guy at the bar, Legacy. Couples resorts are pretty intense.”

It’s not that Beca doesn’t want to go. _God_ she wants to go. Not only because she hasn’t seen Stacie in almost eight months, but it’s a friggen resort and she hasn’t taken a real vacation since graduation. But she’d been to a couples resort with Jesse shortly before their breakup; it was a little overwhelming even for two people in a relationship. Either that, or the general “do literally everything with your significant other!” aspect did not appeal to someone like Beca, who needs at least four hours of alone time throughout the day.

Oh, but there’s the fact that she still gets butterflies when she thinks about Emily and that bar and that…

“Yeah. I’m sure, Beca.” And Emily actually does sound sure and confident and _happy_ and Beca doesn’t understand why she’s the only one feels so flustered and conflicted. Clearly, Emily had adapted well to being used as a decoy and is comfortable enough to now bring that to the next level.

_Come on, Mitchell. You’re the one who started this mess in the first place, remember? Where did your confidence at the bar go?_

She makes a mental note to be at least slightly intoxicated for the entire duration of the vacation.

“Everything okay?” Chloe asks innocently when Beca returns. “You look a little red.”

“Fine,” Beca responds sharply. “It’s just windy outside.”

“Uh huh. Did Emily tell you about the resort?”

Beca fixes her roommate in a glare. “I didn’t say I was talking to Emily.”

“No, you didn’t,” Chloe agrees. “Stacie told me.” She smiles serenely while Beca grumbles something about ‘big noses’ and ‘people’s business’ and ‘over exaggerating,’ but doesn’t start speaking until she’s done. “So we’re flying out next Friday morning, ‘kay? You’re not going home for Thanksgiving, are you?”

Beca crosses her arms. “What if I was? What if I said I wanted to spend time with my family?”

“Oh, you’re so cute when you joke around like that,” Chloe says, patting her cheek as she passes Beca, and the shorter girl holds back the urge to bite her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Vinyl - Fly By Midnight
> 
> find me at http://fullscaleninja.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is sUpEr long but hey it's finally finished so enjoy  
> also a sidenote: I've never been to a resort so I have no idea any of this is even close to accurate

Beca is hit with a surprise the moment she and Chloe step outside Atlanta International.

It’s the kind of surprise she wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to if it hadn’t been a surprise.

Stacie has her car parked illegally on the busy pickup line and there are cars obviously waiting for her to move, but the security officer nearby looks unsure of whether or not to approach the two model-like women leaning on the offending car. Atlanta is significantly warmer than New York, and both Emily and Stacie are wearing shorts, showing off their mile-long legs and strappy sandals.

A stark contrast to these tall, beautiful Bellas, Beca Mitchell trudges out of the airport in baggy sweats and a plain long sleeve shirt, hair done up in a messy bun and sunglasses covering half her face.

Stacie lowers her own sunglasses and scoffs. “Jesus, Mitchell. What bar floor did Chloe peel you off of this morning?”

“Fuck off, Stace,” Beca grumbles, but still accepts the laugh and hug Stacie gives her.  

“You kind of do look hungover,” Emily agrees nervously. She hesitates before following Stacie’s suit and giving Beca a quick hug, and Beca shouldn’t give a shit, but she gives a shit.

“Yeah, well. That’s what I get for partying up with the Beales until midnight, I guess.”

“Oh, please. My family’s not that wild, especially not on Thanksgiving” Chloe quips in. She, like Emily and Stacie, is dressed appropriately for Atlanta weather despite the fact that they’d departed from 30-degree New York. Everyone except Beca looks beach-vacation ready.

Now _that_ , Beca doesn’t give a shit about.

“All right, here you go,” Stacie says, holding out her hand. There are four gold rings resting on her palm.

“What.” Beca asks.

“Our props for the weekend?” Chloe says, as if it should be obvious.

“Wait, _what_?”

“We’re using the discount for two honeymoon suites, Beca.” Stacie gives her a look as she explains the plan, again, as if it should be obvious. “We can’t be on a honeymoon without being married. Well, at least, in this particular situation, you can’t,” she adds with a wink, as if that clarifies anything.

Beca turns to Emily in utter confusion and shock, only to see the younger girl fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“I… uh. Might’ve forgotten to tell you that,” Emily says, turning pink. “Yeah, it’s not just a couples thing. It’s a… we’re supposed to be married.”

“Oh, my god. What the _fuck_ guys? What? _What?_ How is…how is this… _what?_ ”

“You seem confused,” Stacie says, mocking seriousness, and Beca wants to strangle her. “It’s really not that different, when you come down to the basics of faking it.”  

“No. _No_ , no, no, _no_ , absolutely not. This is not happening. No way. I’m out.”

“But Bec —”

“ _No_ , Chloe, oh my god. Listen, faking a relationship is one thing but faking a _marriage_ ? Seriously? Literally none of us have been married before, how the _hell_ is this supposed to go?”

“Relax, Mitchell. It’s called the _honeymoon_ discount for a reason,” Stacie points out. “We’re supposed to be newlyweds, not fourty-eight-year-old parents with an impending divorce trying desperately to escape their 2.5 preteens and find some peace and quiet and youth in a cheap imitation of a tropical getaway.”

“That was too specific and you need help.” Beca points to Stacie and says, before pointing to Emily. “ _You_ lured me here under false pretenses,” and she finally points to Chloe, “and _you_ … God, you _live_ with me and couldn’t tell that I was completely clueless about the plan?”

“I mean, I could tell you didn’t know, but I didn’t want to ruin anything.”

Beca glares at Chloe, who smiles back innocently. “You little —”

“Well, we already have the reservation, a _hugely_ discounted reservation, might I add, and you and Ginger already flew all this way. So we’re doing this, right?” Stacie says with a triumphant smile and a tone of finality.

“And there’s a really nice spa there and I just want, like, _two_ seconds in a jacuzzi,” Emily begs.

“So this _was_ about a spa day!” Beca exclaims, jabbing a finger at Chloe.

“You know I can’t resist the opportunity to spa.”

“Oh, my friggen _god_ . You guys are _actually_ certifiable.”

“You can check us in after this vacation,” Stacie says with a smirk before nodding towards her car. “We should get a move on either way.”

They’ve been arguing — well, _Beca’s_ been arguing — outside the airport for a good while now, and the security officer looks like he’s mustered enough courage to walk over and ticket them, so all four of them scramble into Stacie’s car and drive off.

“Here you go,” Chloe says from the passenger seat, holding out two rings for Beca and Emily. It fits perfectly on her finger and Beca hates it. She watches Emily admiring the matching ring and she can _not_ believe this is happening.

“Okay, at least tell me _why_ I’m —” she thankfully catches herself before she says ‘stuck with’ and mentally slaps herself fifty times as a form of penance “— paired with Emily. You two are the masters at fake relationships, and we’re awkward as fuck.”  

“That’s why it works out,” Chloe says simply, her smile a blinding ray of sunshine. “Like forces attract, right?”

“No, _opposites_ attract. How did you graduate again?”

“Well, there you have it,” Stacie recovers for Chloe without missing a beat. “Me and Beale. You and Legacy. Opposites in height. Attract. Boom.”

Beca sighs and leans back in her seat. There’s no winning with these two, and she should’ve known it was a lost cause the moment she saw those rings in Stacie’s hand. But seriously? Marriage?

“You’re okay with this?” Beca asks, turning to Emily and holding up her left hand. “You were pitched this plan by Stacie of all people and you seriously wanted to go along with it?”

“Well, yeah,” Emily shrugs, smiling a little. “I’ve always wanted to go to a resort, and if this is what it takes for me to be able to afford it…well.” She shrugs again. “I’m down for anything.”

Beca turns back to Stacie and Chloe with a huff. “Guys, this isn’t going to work. Emily’s too innocent for a couples resort and she literally looks like she’s twelve, they’re gonna report us or arrest us or something.”

“If anyone looks like a prepubescent booger, it’s you,” Stacie shoots back.

“Everyone has their IDs, Bec,” Chloe says calmly before Beca can retort. “And you can’t book a hotel room if you’re under a certain age anyway.”

“So eager to poke holes in our plans, aren’t you,” Stacie adds. “If you’re so skeptical about this working, why not come up with an ironclad backstory to support you and Emily’s recent wedding? Or your relationship?”

“Stace and I already thought of ours.”

“Hell yeah we did.”

They high-five and Beca can’t take it, they’re like an insufferable comedic duo with practiced lines and insults ready to be fired. _Just go with it. That’s all you can do to get through the weekend now. Just go with it._

“You okay?” She hears Emily whisper, barely audible over the commotion in the front seat. Beca sighs and nods slowly. “I’m really sorry about not telling you the whole story.”

“It’s fine,” she says honestly. “Probably better that you didn’t. Would’ve reconsidered coming.”

Emily’s smile falters a little and Beca feels like the biggest asshole.

They arrive at the resort within the hour and Chloe and Stacie are screaming and scrambling out of the car and taking pictures before they even reach the valet kiosk at the end of the driveway.

“Get the hell back in here!” Beca yells out the window, but they’re in their own world now. Cursing under her breath, she climbs over the center console and into the driver’s seat, peeling away from the two Bellas and driving up to the bewildered valet.

“How did you do that?” Emily asks, unloading the trunk.

“Do what?”

“Go from the back seat to the front so fast. You were like, a ninja.”

“Guess there’re perks to being small,” Beca says, and the valet stifles a laugh as he takes her place behind the wheel. She debates withholding his tip. Just for a second.

“Should we, uh. Wait for them?” Emily asks tentatively, nodding towards Stacie and Chloe. Even from this distance, Beca can hear Stacie’s, “yeah, mmm girl, work it,” as she snaps pictures of Chloe modeling in front of the main hotel building.

“They’ll be fine. Just leave their bags here. I want to check in and get changed,” Beca says, leaving the overjoyed duo to their photoshoot. Emily follows close behind, her mood hovering somewhere in between Chloe and Stacie’s effusive excitement and Beca’s depressing practicality. “You have the coupon, right?”

“Yup!” The younger girl practically skips to the front desk and greets the woman there with a million-dollar smile. “Hi. Beca Mitchell and Emily Junk, checking in. With a coupon.”

“Welcome, Mrs. — er. Mitchell-Junk? Junk-Mitchell?” the woman asks, rightfully confused, and Beca remembers with a shock that they’re supposed to be married.

“U-uhhhhhhh,” Emily blanks, and Beca steps in.

“Sorry, she’s still not used to it,” she says with an easy smile, thankful she doesn’t sound like she’s choking. “We decided against taking each other’s last names. Just Beca Mitchell,” she says, sliding over her license for identification, “and Emily Junk,” she says, plucking Emily’s license from the petrified girl’s fingers, “and the coupon.” She lays the folded piece of paper on top of their licenses.

“One moment, please.”

“Oh, my stars, I’m so sorry,” Emily whispers as the woman turns to her computer. “I panicked.”

“You were so pumped about this a minute ago,” Beca says, amused. “What happened to all that confidence?”

“I… dunno, it’s a lot more _real_ when we’re actually here, you know?”

“Can’t walk the talk?” Beca teases, bumping her hip against the leggy senior’s.

Emily laughs, bumping her back. “I can barely walk _or_ talk sometimes, so yeah, I guess.”

The woman frowns at her computer and mutters a quick, “Be right back,” before disappearing through a door at the far end of the counter. Emily starts humming the bridge to Demi’s “Sorry Not Sorry” and Beca smiles to herself.

“Hey,” she starts, fidgeting with the fake ring. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. About the whole reconsidering-this-vacation-if-I-knew-about-the-fake-marriage thing. I know you were excited for this vacation and I kind of shit all over it, so. Yeah.” She breathes out a sigh. “Sorry. For being an ass.”  

“No, no, I totally understand. I’d probably panic if I found out I was fake married to me, too,” Emily says with a sincere smile, “But if it makes you feel better, we probably don’t have to flaunt our fake relationship here since everyone’s here with a significant other. Well, unless…you _want_ to show us off.” Her teasing tone and smirk do _not_ match her flustered apology from two minutes ago, and Beca’s mouth almost drops open.

“Where was _this_ when we actually had an audience?” she hisses, looking away to hide her blush, but her frustration vanishes the second Emily starts giggling.

“I’m so sorry.” The woman behind the counter reappears, looking harried, and Emily's smile vanishes. “It looks like your reserved room was mistakenly given to another customer. I’m not sure how the error happened, but we are unable to move the guest out of the room at this moment.” She looks devastated, and Beca can’t help but to feel sorry for her. “Our only available room right now is a deluxe suite on the tenth floor.”

Beca trades a look with Emily. “That sounds like an upgrade.”

“It’s quite an upgrade,” the woman agrees.

“Free of charge?” Emily asks.

“Since the error was on our part, yes, the upgrade comes free of charge.”

“Holy sh — yes, we’ll take it,” Beca says. “I mean, like. Not that we have a choice, right?” she jokes, and the woman laughs in agreement.

They get their key cards and speed walk to the elevator in case the woman (or the resort) changes her mind. Emily is practically bouncing with excitement as they ride up to the tenth floor, and Beca feels the sort of bubbly anticipation that usually accompanies pre-performance jitters. _It’s because we got a room upgrade_ , she tells herself, _and not because I’m about to spend two nights sleeping in the same bed with someone I_ might _have feelings for._

 _After_ one _fake kiss,_ she feels implied to add.

Their suitcases make no sound as they roll down the wide, carpeted hallway until they reach their room. Beca double-checks the room number and quietly asks Emily, “Ready?” her hands clammy on the door handle. She waits until the younger girl takes a deep breath and nods before pushing open the door.

“Oh.”

“My.”

“ _Stars_.”

It’s a large but cozy room with plush carpeting and a high ceiling, complete with a small living room set on one side and a soft-looking queen-sized bed on the other. There’s a kitchenette in the corner of the living room side, its counter lined with snacks and beverages. The cavernous bathroom by the door has a double vanity and looks like something straight out of a homeowner’s magazine for the upper-middle-class.

There are other aspects of the room that scream “honeymoon suite,” and it’s not just the towels folded into swans and the rose petals on the bed. Literally everything is in twos — two mugs by the coffee pot, two bathrobes in the closet, two notepads and pens, two pairs of hotel slippers — with at least one heart either stitched, branded, or printed somewhere on them. The entire room smells like roses, the bathtub is clearly made to fit two people, and the bucket on the coffee table has…

“Champagne?” Beca asks incredulously.

“And chocolates!” Emily exclaims.

And it’s so _much_ but it’s more subtle than Beca had expected and although she wouldn’t use the word _classy_ , she has to admit that she’s thankful the room doesn’t look like Valentine’s Day threw up all over it.

“Oh, _honey_ ,” she drawls, rushing towards the ginormous bathtub lined with jacuzzi jets. “Come look at this _beautiful_ bathroom. Oh, and that _wonderful_ granite-top sink.”

“ _Dahling_ just _look_ at these gorgeous drapes, oh we simply _must_ get them for our dining room,” Emily plays along, slipping into a southern accent.

They circle the room, pointing out the most banal but expensive-looking objects and playing them up like items up for auction. Then they both stumble out onto the small, roofed patio and come face to face with a private pool with a view of the beach ten stories below. “Holy shit,” they both whisper at the same time.

“ _What?_ ”

They jump a foot in the air and whirl at the indignant scream. It’s Chloe, standing in their doorway looking personally offended. “What the… _how_?”

“Oh my _shit_ ,” Stacie gasps, peering into their room. “You guys have a _private_ fucking pool? What the hell? _And_ champagne? Did you two _actually_ get married and you’re not telling us?”

“There was a mix-up!” Emily says happily while Beca splutters like an idiot. “They accidentally gave our room to someone else, so we got this one!”

“Oh, you lucky dogs.” Stacie dips one toe into the pool. “We’re definitely crashing your room later,” she promises.

“Hellllll no,” Beca says, “This is _our_ honeymoon suite. Now get the hell out, I have to change.”

She kicks the two out of her room and grabs her clothes from her suitcase to change, and if she sees the slight pink in Emily’s cheeks that had appeared at her use of ‘our,’ she can blame the sudden heat that seemed to have enveloped the room.

* * *

The resort is absolutely beautiful and Beca can’t believe she paid what she’d paid to stay at such a fancy location. There’s almost too much to do for one weekend, but Stacie and Chloe are already looking through the list of activities and picking out ones they just _have_ to do and ones that can be done if they have time. Beca and Emily simply follow along, the former just happy to be getting a vacation and the latter excited for just about anything.

There are bars sprinkled all throughout the resort and three public pools, and Beca looks around, imagining what it would be like to have all of the Bellas here. She could see Jessica and Ashley reclining by the pool. She could see Cynthia Rose destroying everyone at the poker table, before losing her hand a second later. She could see Aubrey talking to couples at the bar, trying to recruit them into her weird corporate camp.

But she could also see Fat Amy fighting literally every bartender she comes across. She could see Lilly scaring everyone out of the pool by deciding to fall asleep face down in the water. Flo would probably drink every challenging male under the table and then throw up and get kicked out of the hotel.  

It’s a gamble when the Bellas are involved, and Beca knows she would spend the weekend worrying over her dumb team if they were here with them. Her and Chloe exchange a look, and she knows her former co-captain is thinking the same thing.

“Can you imagine if all the Bellas were here?” Stacie asks as if reading their minds. “Like, not _your_ Bellas, Em, but our old chaotic bunch? God, can you imagine the carnage?”

“Somethings are better done with a small group,” Chloe agrees. “And the right people.”

“Yeah,” Beca says, looking at Emily. “The right people.”

Emily beams at her.

Oh, fucking _lord_ . Beca can’t do this. She just can’t. This is all so surreal, even without the added weirdness of their fake (and admittedly joint) honeymoons, and it’s impossible to pretend like she’s been married to Emily when she knows for _sure_ now that she’s starting to fall for her.

And it probably wouldn’t even be that big a deal if they were all just chilling around in their bikinis, but there’s something about a loose cropped tank and a sheer wrap tied around the waist that makes a swimsuit look _hot_. Which is the exact ensemble Emily decides to wear all around the resort, and Beca has to physically avoid looking at her so she doesn't end up drooling.

Chloe catches her looking once and elbows her in the ribs. Beca retaliates by swiping the redhead’s drink out of her hand and finishing it in one gulp. Stacie retaliates for Chloe by stiff-arming Beca into the pool.

“Fuck you, Conrad!” Beca splutters as she resurfaces.

“Hey, watch your language! There are _children_ here!” Stacie yells back, gesturing to Emily, who’s bent over laughing.

And maybe it’s worth the dripping wet T-shirt and ruined hair if it makes Emily laugh like that. Not that it stops Beca from pulling the help-me-out-of-the-pool trick and dragging the giggling girl into the water with her. Chloe and Stacie, after properly undressing, join them by cannonballing and splashing everyone within a ten-foot radius.

They swim in the pool until their fingers and toes prune up. They play shuffleboard without any idea what the hell they’re doing. Chloe drags them to the spa and insist on facials and massages. Their coupon comes with two free drink tickets for the spa bar and they take turns ordering each other the fanciest drinks they can think of. They stay in the jacuzzi until Beca starts to feel light-headed. Chloe and Stacie win the poolside newlyweds game despite competing against actual married couples. They all splurge on dinner. They absolutely _slay_ the karaoke contest. Beca loses $20 at the nickel slots, and Stacie wins $500 through blackjack.

And somewhere along the line, Beca completely forgets that she’s supposed to be married to Emily. No one had put them in a situation where they had to prove their relationship, and they were having too much fun together for anyone to doubt they were together anyway. A small part of her is a little disappointed that she doesn’t have much of an excuse to act overly affectionate with the senior, but at the same time, she’s feels like she should be thankful that she doesn’t have to subject herself to painful pining and longing that their fake affection isn't real.

It’s nearing midnight and after the jam-packed day they had, Emily is clearly nodding off. She denies it vehemently when asked, until finally, her head drops down to rest on Beca’s shoulder while they’re all dancing in a club. “Hey, we’re gonna head back to the room for a bit,” she tells the other two. “It’s way past Legacy’s bedtime.”

“Is not!” Emily whines, her eyes still closed.

“We’ll be joining you after this,” Stacie says in her sultry voice, the effect slightly ruined by the slight slur.

“Yeah, if you even remember where our room is after that drink,” Beca snaps back.

They leave the two partiers at the club and head towards the elevators, Beca awkwardly half-supporting the taller girl’s weight. The hallway is quiet after the loud music at the club, and Beca suddenly becomes very aware of how much contact she’s making with Emily by pressing into her side.

The room is pitch black when they arrive, and the dim bedside lamps don’t do much to illuminate the room. Emily trips over her own feet and one of their suitcases, and Beca watches with amusement as she drifts straight for the queen bed.

“You wanna sleep?” she suggests.

Emily hovers over the bed, blinking tiredly but looking incredibly reluctant to lay down. “No,” she sighs finally. “Can we stay up a little longer?”

Beca smirks. “ _Can_ you?”

As if to show that she’s not practically falling asleep on her feet, Emily shuffles towards the living room and picks up the champagne bottle. “One more drink.”

They change into PJs and go out onto the patio with the champagne and flutes. The temperature had dropped significantly, and Beca dives back into the room to grab two hoodies. The private pool is small but heated, and they kick off their flip flops to stick their bare feet in the water.

“Cheers.”

“To?”

Beca thinks for a minute, holding the flute aloft. “To… our fake honeymoon? And to this _stellar_ free upgraded room?”

“To the honeymoon room,” Emily giggles, and they clink their glasses together. “Ugh,” she grimaces after taking a sip.  

“What? Too warm?”

“No, I just don’t like champagne,” she says, and Beca laughs.

“You’re the one who suggested it.”

“Yeah, but there’re much more preferable things. Like prosecco.”

“ _Prosecco?_ ” Beca asks. “Seriously? Come on, champagne is way better than that ilk.”

“Hell no, prosecco all the way,” Emily argues.

“All right, we need a divorce.”

“You mean a _fake_ divorce.”

“Oh, what? We technically didn’t even get fake married. You deliberately failed to tell me that part,” Beca deadpans. “God, you completely missed out on the opportunity for a fake proposal, too. Like come on, Junk.”

“Hey, I didn’t _deliberately_ hold that information back, I honestly forgot.” Emily sounds simultaneously apologetic and offended, and it’s hard not to believe her. “It… it took a lot. For me to ask you in the first place. I was so focused on just asking you to come that I forgot about the whole _married_ part.”

“That’s literally the most important part of the plan.”

“Yeah… well. Not… um. Not to me.”

And then she’s blushing and dropping her gaze and Beca doesn’t know what’s happening. There’s a question there, begging to be asked, and she knows from Emily’s tone and blush and abrupt shyness that if Beca asks that question now hovering at the tip of her tongue, the younger girl will give her the exact answer she wants to hear.

“Then…um. What… what is?” she ventures.

Emily’s cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red. “The most important part,” she says evenly, “is that you would be here with me. _You,_ Beca. Not Stacie or Chloe. You.”

Beca forces a nervous chuckle, instinctively deflecting. “What, because we faked kissed that one time? Didn’t know you enjoyed it that much, Legacy.”

And she wants to throw up because Emily is looking at her with such a soft smile and soft eyes and soft _everything_ , not at all affected by Beca’s comment, and she’s so fucking _precious_ and _perfect_ . “Didn’t _you_?” she asks, almost a whisper, and Beca just _feels_ it, deep in her soul like a rumbling earthquake, and she prays to heaven and hell that she’s right because she’s leaning in towards Emily, eyes locked on hers. And then she sees Emily leaning in, too, and an enormous surge of confidence crashes over her, pushing her forward until their lips meet in the middle.

No audience. No spectacle. Just them in their fancy, discounted hotel room, sitting by their pool, sharing a real, private, personal kiss. And there’s no reason to stop, no Pedro or Peter or whatever the hell that guy’s name was to put on a show for, to break apart when he’s gone. Emily’s lips are soft and warm and perfect in every way, and Beca understands why she had been so hung up on this feeling — both physical and emotional — for so long. She moves closer, trailing a gentle hand along Emily’s cheek and tucking the stray hairs behind her ear. The younger girl shivers at the touch, and Beca smiles into the kiss.

“Yes,” she breathes, and feels Emily’s lips twitch up into a smile too. “God, yes.”

“Good,” Emily says, sliding her arm around Beca’s waist and pulling her closer, “because I kinda haven’t stopped thinking about it since it happened.”

“You and me both,” Beca manages to say, before Emily’s kissing her again and she loses all cohesive thought altogether. She drowns in the blissful sensation of Emily’s perfect lips on hers, and she tries to get it through her numb head that this is really happening and they’re kissing for _real_ and Emily _actually_ enjoys this as much as she does.

And then there’s banging on the door and they jump apart violently.

“Em? Bec?”

“Open up, lovebirds. We’re going down to the tiki party next door!”

“Fuck,” Beca curses, clutching her racing heart. She couldn’t tell if it was beating fast from the kiss or from the sudden banging. Both, probably. She stands and slides the patio door closed, muffling the knocking, and pulls Emily to her feet.

“Wh-where’re we going?” Emily asks, letting Beca lead her to the railing of the patio. The beach is so close that they can hear the waves even from this height.

“Not to a tiki party, that’s for sure,” Beca scoffs. “And as long as we’re feeding into the cheesy stereotypes of the honeymoon suite, I figured making out against a balcony railing overlooking the beach kinda fits into that.”  

“Oh? Never figured you for a cheesy romantic,” Emily teases, tangling her fingers in Beca’s hair. “Guess I’m kind of rubbing off on you, huh?”

Beca goes up on her toes to reach Emily’s lips for the briefest second before shooting her a smirk. “You wish, Legacy.”


End file.
